


please don't confront me with my failures (i had not forgotten them)

by connorswhisk



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: ://///, M/M, No one will read this but oh well, and it's a rarepair...ugh, anyway this is quarantine fic #2, because italia sana is the wooOOoooOOOrst, can't believe i wrote a fic about the worst skam remake, i also went out of my way to not even mention sana, sorry nicotino shippers ????????, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorswhisk/pseuds/connorswhisk
Summary: Martino deals with friends, ex-friends, his parents, himself, and the boy who just won't get out of his head.
Relationships: Giovanni Garau/Martino Rametta
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	please don't confront me with my failures (i had not forgotten them)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't like niccolo that is why this fic exists and no i won't apologize for not liking him 
> 
> this fic is shamelessly self-indulgent, maybe two people will read it, and it stems from a deep hatred of martino's canon boyfriend and a deep love for martino's non-canon boyfriend/best friend
> 
> title taken from these days by nico

At first, Martino doesn’t see himself as a manipulative person. Rather, he doesn’t _want_ to see himself as a manipulative person. Nobody _wants_ that. It’s shitty. It hurts people. It never ends well.

Then, Marti understands what he’s doing is bad. But he can’t stop. He’s already come so far, so why stop now? He’s in too deep, he can’t, he just can’t.

It’s not that he means to string Eva along it’s just - he does. She’s his friend, he shouldn’t, he _knows._ He knows. But -

He does it anyway. He pretends to care about Eva and Gio’s relationship, pretends that he doesn’t feel his insides turn themselves out whenever he sees them together (and he sees them together a lot). He gives Eva advice when she asks for it, when she talks to him at the cabin and says, _What’s going on with him and Laura?_

What’s going on with him and Laura? Marti knows. And he promised he’d never tell her. So he doesn’t.

She cuddles into his side that night, that night when Gio and Elia are gone. They fall asleep on the couch together, almost spooning, her tucked underneath his arm, into his chest. He thinks,

_If I were straight, this could potentially be a problem for me._

And God, he wishes he were straight.

They wake up the next morning to the others returned, bringing coffee cake for breakfast. Elia makes some sly comment about them sleeping together, Eva scoffs, Marti looks to Gio, just to make sure he isn’t mad -

He isn’t. He laughs, softly, quietly, all good humor and no malice. He trusts Marti. He _trusts_ him. Which is why he shouldn’t be -

He already knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He already knows he’s betraying too many people’s trusts.

Eva tells him about Federico, tells him everything, confides in him, begs him to help her, to tell her what to do. _Please, Marti. Do I tell him?_

Marti knows that if she tells Giovanni, he’ll forgive her. Almost as if it isn’t even him in control, he tells her,

_No. It was just one kiss. It’s not like you had sex with him. Telling him will ruin your relationship._

_Ok. Ok,_ she says, and kisses him on the cheek. _Thanks for always being there for me._

Martino’s stomach lurches, but he smiles and nods all the same.

He doesn’t initially plan to tell anyone. It’s Eva’s secret. Someone else will find out. It’ll get out somehow, and Federico’s girlfriend will know, and so will Gio, and they’ll break up.

That way it won’t be Marti’s fault. Not if he doesn’t say anything. Not if he keeps his mouth shut.

It’ll just be because Eva and Gio couldn’t trust each other enough to be each other’s partners.

He won’t say anything. He won’t say anything. He -

But -

One night he goes to Elia’s expecting to catch a break, expecting to talk about games, about school, about _anything_ else, just talk and smoke a blunt and live easy.

But when Gio walks in the door, the first thing out of his mouth is, _I just don’t understand what’s wrong with her. Why doesn’t she trust me?_

Trust. There’s that _fucking_ word again.

Martino leaves. Makes up some bullshit excuse about not finishing his biology assignment. Gets the hell out. Elia’s place isn’t far from his apartment. He runs the whole way home.

He realizes he’s crying only after he shuts the bedroom door behind him.

“Marti?” he hears his mother call. “You ok?”

“‘M’fine,” he says. “Just tired.”

She doesn’t say anything else. Martino almost wishes she would. Just to show that she even cares at all.

He feels completely lost. He feels like screaming. He feels like _throwing up._

He goes out onto the balcony. Smokes a cig. Watches the traffic below, feels the cold metal of the railing under his fingers.

He flicks the cigarette over the edge, half-finished. He messages Alice.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

He pockets his phone. Sighs to himself.

And immediately throws up in Mama’s plastic potted plant.

_Martino Rametta,_ he thinks, eyes blurring with tears as he pinches the skin of his forearm, his thigh, his inner wrist. _You are the worst friend in the world._

He knows it’s true. Knows it’s true in the way that Eva kisses his cheek, in the way that she looks to him for advice because he’s her _friend,_ in the way that Gio smiles at him, and smiles at him, and _smiles_ at him.

_Do you honestly believe_ , he asks himself, breathing deep to avoid vomiting again. _That he’ll want you after all of this is over? That he_ ever _wanted you at all? What is wrong with you, Martino? What is_ wrong _with you?_

Well, for starters, he’s in love with his decidedly male best friend. His decidedly male best friend whose girlfriend is Marti’s female best friend. And Marti has just fucked up their entire relationship.

Maybe. _Maybe._ Marti digs out his phone, fully prepared to unsend the messages and pretend like it never happened.

But just as he unlocks his phone it buzzes in his hand.

_alice_regina: WTF are you serious? That whore!!_

_alice_regina: Thank you for telling me. I’m going to KILL her._

Marti breathes out shakily.

Eva will hate him.

Unless Alice doesn’t tell her it was him who spilled. Why would she, right?

He doesn’t know if he’d feel worse if Eva knew or not.

Marti’s gut churns unpleasantly. Bile rises in his throat. He makes it to the plant again just in time.

“Marti? Honey?” Mama slides the balcony door open. “Oh god, Marti, are you alright?” She kneels by his side, strokes his back. He groans.

“Alessandra?” Dad calls from inside. “What is it?”

“Marti’s sick,” Mama answers. “Martino, _mi tesoro,_ what happened? Was it something you ate?”

“I don’t know,” Martino croaks. Dad appears in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“Marti was sick in my plant,” Mama explains. “Maybe he shouldn’t go to school tomorrow.”

Dad hums, seemingly unimpressed. “Were you drinking?”

Martino lifts his eyes and looks at his father. Dad raises his eyebrows.

“Were you drinking?”

Marti shakes his head.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Emiliano,” Mama says coldly. “Go easy on him, he’s unwell.”

“He was just at his friend’s house,” Dad snaps back. “How do we know he didn’t drink at his friend’s house? He was fine earlier.”

“He is your _son!_ ” Mama yells, standing up. Martino flinches. “Can you not believe him when he tells you he wasn’t drinking? Can you not just let him _rest?_ God knows we don’t get enough quiet around here!”

“ _Quiet?_ You’re shouting, you stupid bitch!”

Mama steps back as if slapped. “Don’t you _ever_ call me that, Emiliano, don’t you _ever - “_

Martino stumbles to his feet and leaves. No one stops him. He shuts himself in his room for the second time that night, covers his eyes with his hands.

He falls asleep to the sound of his parents screaming at each other. He wonders if they even noticed he’d left.

Marti doesn’t want to go to school the next day, but he does anyway because Mom is taking the day off and he really can’t be around her right now.

She doesn’t mention last night when he says goodbye to her. She’s probably forgotten he was even sick at all.

She just hums, staring blankly, fingers curled around a lukewarm mug of coffee, not blinking.

So he just leaves.

He doesn’t see Eva when he gets to school, which is probably for the best. He catches up with Gio, though, with Elia and with Luca. Nothing seems out of the ordinary with them. Alice clearly hasn’t done anything yet.

_Maybe,_ Martino thinks as they head to lunch after second period, _Maybe she_ won’t _do anything. Maybe she’ll just talk to Eva, instead of making a big scene._

“You left early last night, Rametta,” Elia says, flicking him on the shoulder. “The fuck is up with that?”

“Yeah, come on, man,” Luca chimes in. “You kinda left us hanging.”

Martino shrugs, picking at his pasta salad. “I had homework.”

Elia snorts. “Since when do _you_ care about _homework?”_

Luca laughs. Marti tries to join in.

“Guess I was just tired,” he says. Elia rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.”

He goes back to poking fun at whatever girl Luca’s got a hopeless crush on at the moment. Martino pretends to listen, but he can’t stop looking over at Eva’s table, where she’s sitting with Eleanora and Federica and the other girls she hangs out with. She looks perfectly happy. And Alice is nowhere in sight.

Someone nudges his shoulder. “Hey, man, you ok?”

It’s Gio. Of course it is. Marti’s stomach twists with about twenty-five conflicting emotions at once.

“What do you mean?”

Gio looks at him, concerned. “I mean, you hardly ever pass up a chance to smoke with us. And the guys are right, you’re not one for homework. Is everything ok...you know, at home?”

“Um.” He glances up. Still nothing at Eva’s table. “My parents got into another fight last night.”

Giovanni hums. “How bad?”

Marti huffs. “Not great.”

“You could’ve called me.”

Marti shrugs. “You were with the guys.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Sometimes, Martino feels like Giovanni is the only person he can really trust. When his parents are yelling at each other, he’ll text Gio. If there’s trouble at home, he talks to Gio about it. Elia and Luca _know_ about Marti’s family issues, and they’re chill about it, but they’re not always as understanding as Gio is.

This is a problem for many reasons. It’s great. But it’s also a problem.

Marti feels an arm snake around his shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “I’m here if you need me, man.”

Martino nods. Tries not to blush. That would be embarrassing.

He almost says something. He gets to the point where his mouth is open and the words are fresh on his tongue.

“Holy shit,” Luca says, and Martino closes his mouth.

That’s ok. He doesn’t even know what he was going to say. Could’ve been embarrassing.

“What?” Elia asks. Luca is staring at something on his phone, eyes huge, mouth open wide.

Marti feels his stomach drop.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Luca repeats. He looks up at Giovanni.

“What the fuck, dude, let me see.” Elia grabs the phone. Reads whatever’s on the screen.

He whistles low. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” Martino asks. Elia passes him the phone, but he already knows what it is.

A post on Alice’s Instagram. Eva is tagged in it. So is Federico.

“What?” Giovanni asks exasperatedly. “Come on, guys, what is it?”

“Uhhh,” Elia says. He looks at Luca and Marti.

Luca grimaces. “Show him, Marti.”

Gio takes the phone. Martino looks away. He can’t watch this, he just can’t.

“Dude, ‘Vanni,” Elia starts. “I’m really - “

He’s interrupted by a yell from the other side of the room. Marti looks up just in time to see Alice smack Eva across the face.

And then all hell breaks loose.

“Oh, _shit!_ ” Luca swears. Somehow he’s already filming it. He’s not the only one.

Elia jumps to his feet. So do a lot of other people.

Gio stays sitting. He looks utterly heartbroken.

Marti pulls his hood over his head, sighs deeply, drives his palms into his eyelids until all he can see is color.

It does nothing to block out the noise. It never does.

Eva stays home from school the next couple of days. Marti calls her a few times, comes over when she asks him to, tells her anything he can about Giovanni. She doesn’t get happier.

Martino feels wracked with more and more guilt every time she texts him, every time he sees her name lit up on his phone screen.

“I want to change schools,” she tells him one night. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“You can’t do that,” Marti says quickly. “This will all blow over eventually, and then everyone will probably forget about it.”

“ _I_ won’t,” she says miserably. “ _He_ won’t.”

“Don’t leave school,” Marti begs, but Eva just shrugs.

She can’t leave. He’d never meant for her to _leave._

He shouldn’t have done this, he shouldn’t have _done_ this.

_Fuck._

Mama and Dad get into another fight again. Something dumb, something pointless. They’re both overreacting.

Until Mama screams, _If you hate me so fucking much, then why don’t you just go move in with_ her _?!_

_Fine, I will!_

He leaves. The door slams. Mama sobs.

Martino’s never had the best relationship with his father. He’s known about the other woman, or at least suspected it, ever since he was eleven years old. He’d had his suspicions that Mama knew. He’d imagined that at some point, Dad would move out.

Now that it’s happened, Martino shouldn’t be surprised.

_Surprised_ and _shocked_ aren’t the same word. They don’t mean the same thing.

Marti’s pretty fucking shocked right now.

He leaves his bedroom. Finds Mama in a heap on the tiled floor of the kitchen, weeping. It’s the most bitter sound Martino has ever heard in his life.

He wants to cry. But he knows that he has to stay strong for her now.

He helps her to her feet. Gives her soup that he finds in the back of a cupboard, a dusty can, an old can. Puts her to bed and turns off all the lights.

He feels numb. He feels _cold._

Dad didn’t even say _goodbye_ to him.

Martino picks up the phone. Calls the only person he feels he can.

“Hey, Marti, what’s up?”

“It happened, Gio. He’s gone.”

“...Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Martino.”

“Can you...?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be right over.”

He doesn’t deserve Giovanni. Especially not after what he’s done to him. If he were a true friend, a really good person, Martino wouldn’t ask Giovanni to be there for him, to be a shoulder for him to cry on.

But when he opens the door and Gio is standing there, arms full of blankets and McDonalds, Marti lets him in.

Not that he wouldn’t have, anyway.

“Hey,” Gio says, putting the stuff down on the dining room table.

Marti’s lower lips quivers. Gio opens his arms and Martino rushes into them, finally letting the dam break.

“It’s ok.” His voice is gentle, soft, harmless. “It’s gonna be ok.”

Gio holds Marti there in the kitchen, rubbing his back in slow circles, letting him let it all out. Marti wouldn’t do this in front of Luca, in front of Elia, but with Gio, he feels safe to.

Marti feels upset. He feels heartbroken.

He feels _guilty_ , letting Giovanni take care of him when Martino has done nothing but lie to him.

Somehow they end up in Marti’s room. Gio pulls out his computer, scrolls through movies on Netflix. Marti watches him, watches his face, his eyes.

“How are you?” he asks. He hates the way his voice croaks with recently shed tears. “With the whole Eva thing.”

Giovanni’s face changes, flickers to something darker, but only for a moment. “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that _you’re_ ok, dude.”

Stupid, selfless, perfect asshole.

“What do you wanna watch?”

Marti shrugs. “Dunno.”

Gio looks over at him. “Tired?”

Marti closes his eyes. Nods. It’s nearly one in the morning.

“We don’t have to watch anything if you don’t want to.”

“Can we just sleep?”

“Sure.”

Marti opens his eyes. “Shit, I didn’t get the mattress out. You can take the couch if you want.”

Gio raises an eyebrow. “Are you gonna be ok in here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Giovanni considers it. Then he grins. “No, fuck that. I’ll just sleep in the bed with you tonight, man. You need it.”

“You really don’t have to - “

“ _Marti._ It’s fine.”

He turns out the light.

Well, how the fuck is Martino supposed to fall asleep _now?_ With Gio less than a foot away from him, in Martino’s fucking bed like it doesn’t fucking matter?

_Shit. Shit,_ Marti is so _fucked._

Giovanni opens his eyes. “C’mere, man.”

And now he’s got his arms around Marti, fucking _spooning him_ like it’s the most perfectly normal thing in the world. No _biggie._ Just guys being dudes. _Friendship, amiright?_

This is too many different emotions for Martino to handle.

Thankfully, tomorrow ( _today??_ ) is a Saturday. Thankfully, Marti won’t have to go to school after this.

When he wakes up (he doesn’t remember falling asleep), he rolls over to find an empty bed.

Someone is singing in the kitchen. Marti can smell something frying. He checks his phone. It’s already past noon.

He finds Gio at the stove, spatula in hand. There’s a cup of coffee waiting on the counter, black, like Marti prefers it.

“Morning,” Gio says, sliding a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Martino.

“Thanks,” Marti tries to say. It comes out more of a whisper.

“I already brought your mom some stuff,” Giovanni says. “But I think she probably isn’t going to come out much today.”

“ _Thanks,_ Gio.”

He shrugs. “‘S’no problem. You’re my brother.”

And _ouch,_ that stings. Martino takes an overly-long drink of coffee.

“So, what are the plans for today?” Gio asks, sitting down with his own plate of food.

Martino frowns. “Don’t you have to go home?”

“Nope, not if I’m not one hundred percent sure that you’re ok.”

“I’m _fine,_ Giovanni.”

“Bullshit. Wanna play _Fifa?_ ”

So they do. Martino beats his ass, of course.

Around three the doorbell rings. Gio gets up.

“Gio.”

He glances back. “Yeah?”

Martino swallows. “If it’s my dad...”

“I won’t let him in.”

Marti nods. He knows that Gio understands, understands that Marti can’t - he can’t see his dad right now. He doesn’t know when he’s going to be able to see his dad ever again.

Martino hears some quiet talking. He can’t make out the other voice.

“Who was it?” he asks when Gio comes back.

“Eva.”

“ _Eva?_ ”

“Yeah. She wanted to talk to you about something, but I told her what was up. So she left.”

Fuck. What had she wanted to say to him?

“Fuck, man,” Marti says. “If I’d known it was Eva, I would have - “

“Don’t sweat it,” Gio says. Marti can’t read his face. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You sure?”

Giovanni swallows. “Want to order a pizza?”

“Ok.”

If he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to talk about. He _shouldn’t_ talk about with Martino, anyway.

He’s the whole reason Giovanni is this upset at all.

God, Martino is the worst friend anyone could ask for.

He doesn’t deserve Giovanni. He never has.

He’s outside with the guys at some party a week later, dicking around with them, being a bit of an asshole, trying to distract himself from everything going on at home, when Eva approaches him. Martino’s too deep into the beer and weed to register that she wants to speak to him alone until the other guys are already clearing out.

“Hey,” she says, smiling, sitting next to him. He’s glad she’s doing better, glad she’s seemingly made up with Laura and isn’t being treated so badly at school anymore.

“Hey,” he repeats back to her. He offers her the pen in his hand.

“I’m good,” she says. Marti takes a hit, lets the smoke stream out of him in one long gust. It’s night, but it isn’t dark. The light of the streetlamps is filling his vision, and the bass of whatever trap song is blasting inside is pounding in his head. It’s one of those situations where Martino doesn’t feel solidly there. Doesn’t even feel _real._

“So I wanted to tell you,” Eva starts. She stops. Glances at him almost nervously.

“What?”

“Giovanni and I got back together,” she tells him, searching his face for a sign of approval.

Marti’s stomach sinks.

“Oh,” he says.

_Oh._

_After all that? After everything...?_

_But it’s just as well. It’s what you deserve._

He plasters on a fake smile. “That’s awesome, Eva. Seriously.”

Eva grins. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t sure at first, ‘cause - you know. After everything...But we talked about it, and I apologized, and he really understands me, and what I was saying to him and all that. So now we’re trying again. Full trust this time, no secrets.”

Marti tries to keep his smile going. He can feel it faltering. “I’m happy you two figured it out. I guess,” He swallows roughly. “I guess you two must be made for each other, or something.”

Eva rolls her eyes. “That’s just fucking cheesy.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He takes another hit off the pen. There isn’t enough pot in the world to numb the way Martino’s feeling right now.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Eva continues. “For always being there for me and for helping me out this whole time. I’m glad I could count on you during all this, Marti.”

Martino shifts his position. He can’t look Eva in the eyes right now. Not when she’s saying this to him. Not after everything that’s happened.

“‘S’no problem, Eva, really. You guys are my best friends.”

“I knew you were rooting for us the whole time, even when things got bad.”

“Yeah.”

Eva throws her arms around him, lays her head on his shoulder. “I love you, Marti.”

Martino reminds himself to breathe. “Love you, too.”

They sit for a minute, quietly. The only thing Marti can hear is Eva’s breathing and his own heart thumping like a jackhammer in his chest.

“I just have one question, though,” Eva says.

“Shoot.”

“If you wanted me and Gio to be together, then why did you tell Alice that I kissed Federico?”

Martino’s breath catches in his throat, right as he’s got the pen to his lips. He coughs.

“Wh - What?” he sputters. Smoke billows out in clouds in front of his face, and this can’t be happening, this can’t be _real._

Eva sits up and turns to face him.

“You told Alice what I told you about Federico. When I kissed him, we were alone. No one could have seen us. But Alice found out about it anyway. At first I thought Fede told her, but then she told me it was you.”

Marti can feel his stomach churn. He twists his hands together and then apart in his lap, weaving his fingers in and out of each other.

“Eva, I - “

“What the fuck, Martino?” she says, and any trace of the honey-sweetness from before is gone now. “I _trusted_ you. Why would you tell her? I thought we were supposed to be _friends._ ”

Martino squeezes his eyes shut. Wills the nightmare to end. Wills for him to wake up to his alarm ringing, or to the teacher calling his name, or to his Mama gently shaking him awake, with a smile on her face for once, with a _smile -_

But this is real life. Things aren’t that simple.

He has to tell her the truth. She needs to know.

“I can’t believe you.”

His jaw clenches. The words that come out of his mouth sound more hostile than he means for them to.

“You can’t believe me? Of course I told Alice.”

No, _no,_ this isn’t what he meant to say. He was going to - He was going to _tell her -_

“What the fuck do you mean, _of course?_ ” Eva demands. She’s standing up now, and her face is full of fury. “You mean I should’ve seen this coming? How the hell was I supposed to see this coming, Martino?”

“I mean, you two were always _hanging off of each other!_ ” Martino explodes, and he knows that this is it, that there’s no turning back now. “I couldn’t hang out with Gio without him talking about you, I couldn’t hang out with you without you talking about Gio, and whenever I was with both of you, I was just third-wheeling! I was sick of it, Eva, I was sick of it, do you understand?”

“But you could have _said something!_ ” she yells back. “You could have talked to one of us! You didn’t have to tell Alice! You didn’t have to betray my trust like that! Martino, my social life was _ruined_ because of you! People were whispering about me in the halls, someone sent me a note written in fucking _period blood,_ and now Silvia won’t be friends with me anymore, and it’s _your fucking fault, Martino, it’s your fault._ ”

Eva’s words sting like multiple slaps to the face in quick, hard succession. This is the angriest Marti has ever seen her. And he knows that what she’s saying is completely true, completely justified.

“I couldn’t have said anything,” he says, all heat gone, only exhaustion left. “I couldn’t have.”

“Why not?” Eva asks. “The only reason you wouldn’t have is if you - is if you - “

She stops. Stares at him.

“You were jealous.”

He glances up at her. He knows how pitiful, how pathetically scared he must look right now.

_She knows._

“You were jealous of our relationship,” Eva says slowly, quietly. “Because you’re - “

_Just say it. I know, ok? Just fucking say it. I can’t bear this waiting._

“Are you in love with me?” she asks.

_Wait._

He says, “I - “

He says, “It’s - “

But it’s easier this way.

What’s one more lie?

He says, “How could I not be, when you were always all over me like that?”

She stares at him. “Marti, you - “

“Save it, Eva,” he says harshly. “I know you don’t feel the same. But it was _unbearable_ to see you two together. When - “

Jesus.

“When I felt the way I did.”

Eva looks at a loss for words. “But you didn’t - you never - _I_ never - “

“Eva,” someone calls. It’s Eleanora, jogging up to them.

“Yeah,” Eva says. “Hang on.”

“No,” Eleanora says. Her voice sounds panicked. She spares Martino the briefest glance. “It’s urgent.”

“Yeah, ok, hang _on,_ ‘Nora - “

“ _Eva._ There’s something wrong with Silvia.”

Eva stares at her, says, “ _Fuck,”_ and follows her inside.

Martino is left on his own, feeling empty, feeling awful, feeling the worst he’s ever felt. No vomit comes up his throat. No tears well up in his eyes.

He just feels disgusted with himself.

And lonely. _So lonely._

This is the loneliest Martino has ever, _ever_ felt.

Eva won’t talk to him.

Marti had anticipated this, but it still hurts to see her in the halls, to have her completely ignore him. Of course, now she thinks that Marti is in love with her. That kind of makes everything worse.

Gio doesn’t bring it up. Now Marti understands that Eva had been lying before, when she said that they had gotten back together, had told Martino that so that she could guilt trip him into oblivion.

He feels like he should be mad, but really, he deserves it. He’d lied to her first. And for worse reasons.

The last time Martino had been able to talk to Eva, when she’d drilled him for more information on everything, he’d begged her not to tell Giovanni. She hadn’t said yes or no. She’d just shaken her head at him, hit him with a look that was full of both anger and pity.

Martino doesn’t deserve her pity.

But since Gio hasn’t said anything, Martino assumes everything is ok, at least in that regard. Because if Giovanni were to find out -

He’d rather not think about it.

Dad finally calls Martino, three weeks after he leaves. He talks as if nothing’s happened, as if he’s just away on a work call and he’ll be back as soon as he can, as soon as his job’s done. Marti likes the normalcy. He also detests it.

“Are we ever going to talk about this, Dad?” he asks quietly, hoping Mama can’t hear him from next door.

“All in due time, all in due time,” Dad responds, lightly, with the tone of someone who’s walking on eggshells, who isn’t ready, who might never _be_ ready. He changes the subject.

Marti hasn’t actually _seen_ him. He’d been invited to, to go out to lunch with him and his... _girlfriend,_ if that’s what they even _are._ Martino had said no, made up some bullshit excuse about going to a study session with friends.

“That’s too bad,” Dad had said. “Maybe some other time, once exams are over.”

_If he really knew me at all,_ Martino thinks to himself sullenly, darkly, laughing at himself, laughing at the whole shitty situation. _He’d know I never study. Especially not with other people. Never did that when he was around._

Mama hasn’t talked to Dad at all. Marti thinks that that’s probably for the best. She’s back at work, but when she comes home, Marti’s become accustomed to her just taking her anxiety medication, staring blankly at the television for a few hours while he makes her dinner, and then going to bed at 7:00.

Marti wonders at first if he should do something, but then he thinks about it and realizes that he doesn’t know _what_ he’d do _._ She’s coping, in her own way. She’ll snap out of it eventually.

Hopefully.

So Marti deals with Mama, deals with his father, tries not to completely flunk out of school, avoids Eva entirely, gets high with the boys, looks at Gio, thinks about Gio, wishes he could be with Gio...

He’s a mess, but a mess that’s going to make it through everything, all on his own. He doesn’t need help. He doesn’t want it.

Gio still offers it anyway.

Marti tries to say no.

It doesn’t work.

So, he lets Giovanni cook him dinner, lets him test him on his history flashcards, lets him play _Fifa_ on his couch, and sleep in his bed, and, and, and...

And Martino deals with it. Just like everything else.

He’ll be _fine._

Months go by. Exams finish (Marti does ok). He still doesn’t make any plans with dad and his girlfriend, but he spends the day with just his father a couple of times, which is preferable. Summer starts, summer ends. Martino doesn’t do anything special. Mama gets better, but only by a little. Eva still doesn’t talk to him much, but she doesn’t completely ignore his existence anymore, no longer shoots glares in his direction every time they’re in the same room, so that’s an improvement. Gio flirts with a lot of different girls at a lot of different parties. None of them last much longer than a night, so Marti tries to ignore it.

He’s _dealing._

“He’s wasted.”

Martino glances over at where Luca’s pointing, at a clearly very drunk Giovanni out on the dance floor with some random girl, who looks equally as intoxicated.

“Astute observation, as always, Lu,” Elia mutters around the blunt in his mouth. He takes a hit, blows the smoke directly into Luca’s face.

“Fuck off,” Luca responds, blinking wildly and motioning for the blunt. “Give it, asshole. I was just,” he puts it in his mouth, “Just pointing something out.”

“Well then, I praise you for an incredible job done of _stating the obvious._ ” Elia rolls his eyes and leans back against the wall. “Someone should take him home. Soon, probably, before he throws up all over that girl.”

“Yeah, this party kinda blows,” Luca says.

“Just because you’re shit at getting any doesn’t mean the whole _party_ blows, dude.”

“Ok, listen, _fuck you,_ first of all - “

Martino tunes out, takes a drag off of the blunt that has somehow made its way into his hands. He’s watching Gio. He’s watching Gio dance with some _girl,_ some _girl_ he’s never even _met_ before. Marti’s seen this a hundred times, but it still stings, just a bit, every time it happens.

Luca’s right, this party is lame. Or maybe Marti’s just tired.

He downs the rest of whatever’s in his cup. “I’ll take him back to my place. I’m pretty tired.”

“You sure?” Luca asks, but his eyes are stuck on the ass of the brunette girl dancing a few feet away from him, and Marti gets the impression he isn’t really listening.

“Yeah, it’s fine. You guys should stay, though, if you want.”

“Sure.”

“Alright.” Martino pushes himself off the wall. “See you guys.”

“Marti,” Elia calls. Martino turns back to him, raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“The blunt?”

“Oh, shit.” He passes it back to him, only after taking one last hit off of it, of course.

“ _Bye,_ Rametta.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Martino maneuvers his way through the crowd. He taps Gio on the shoulder, who wheels around, almost splashing him with the contents of his cup.

“ _Marti!_ ” he yells, over the din of the music. “What’s up?”

“I’m taking you home,” Martino shouts back. “You’re fucked up, dude.”

“ _I know!_ ” Giovanni grins. “ _It’s great!_ ”

“Ok, let’s go.” He starts to pull Gio away by the wrist.

“Aw, come on, he can stay,” the girl says. She looks Marti up and down, slowly, grinning drunkenly. “You can stay too, if you want.” She’s tall. Blonde. Her eyes are hooded, covered in smudged black eyeshadow.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Marti responds quickly. “Sorry.”

He manages to get Gio through the crowd and out the door, somehow wrestles the solo cup out of his grasp and chucks it in a bin before they get outside. Martino’s apartment isn’t far from the place the party is at, so he decides to risk walking instead of getting the bus, which is probably the best bet anyway, because Giovanni gets motion sick really fast.

The problem with walking though is that Gio is staggering all over the place, and Marti has to hold him up. So that’s annoying.

Or, it should be. Gio’s close with his arm slung around Martino’s shoulders, with Marti supporting him around his waist. He’s very warm.

The beer smell is a definite turn-off, unfortunately.

“Maaarrrrtiiiiiiiii,” Giovanni drawls. “Hey, Martiii.”

“What’s up, man?”

Gio fixes him with a hazy look, eyes cloudy with alcohol. “I love parties,” he says.

Martino laughs. “Yeah, I know you do.”

“Are you taking me back to my house?”

“No, you can crash at my place. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”

Gio hums. “Okaaayy.”

Marti’s apartment is only a five minute walk away, but it takes more like fifteen under the circumstances. But Martino doesn’t mind. It’s a nice night. Giovanni’s singing some shitty pop song. He can stand to be outside an extra ten minutes.

When they finally get inside, Marti sits Gio down on the couch. He immediately slumps over, giggling to himself about one thing or another.

“Ok, we’re going to my room,” Marti tells him. “But you know the drill.”

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet. I can do that,” Giovanni says. Loudly.

“ _Shh! Quieter._ ”

“ _Oh, ok. Like this?_ ” Still a pretty loud whisper, but it’ll have to do.

Gio falls face first onto the mattress once they get to Marti’s bedroom. Marti thinks that maybe he should’ve made his bed, but Gio will just mess it up, and he doesn’t normally make it, anyway.

He crouches down, tries his best to unlace Gio’s sneakers even though he’s fighting off a buzz, too. He manages to get Giovanni down to his boxers. Martino can’t even be embarrassed about that, he’s had to do it so many damn times.

Not that he particularly minds, though.

“Ok, dude,” he says once Gio’s under the sheets. “Do you need anything? A glass of water?”

“C’mere,” Gio says, making grabbing motions with his hands and completely ignoring Martino’s question.

Marti sighs. “Ok.” He kicks off his own shoes, lies his head on the pillow next to Giovanni’s.

Gio’s eyes are heavily-lidded, drooping more and more with every passing second, and Martino knows he’s not far off from falling asleep. Hell, _Marti’s_ pretty close, too. He thinks he should probably turn off the light, but he’s very comfortable. Maybe he’ll just do it...in a couple of minutes...

“Marti.”

Martino shakes himself out of it. He lifts his head and props himself up on his elbow.

“Yeah?”

Gio’s eyes are open. He’s looking at Marti in a way that he’s never looked at Marti before. Deeply. Drunkenly. _Differently._

“What is it, ‘Vanni?”

Gio hesitates. “Your hair looks’nice.”

“Thanks?”

Martino cocks his head. “Was that it?”

Giovanni blinks once, slowly.

And then he kisses him.

Marti sits frozen for a good five seconds, eyes wide, heart pounding, caught completely off-guard, before jumping to his senses and kissing back.

Giovanni is hot, and overwhelming, and yeah, he tastes like beer, and really _cheap_ beer at that, but Marti can’t even pay attention to that because Giovanni is _kissing him and this isn’t a dream._

Martino isn’t dreaming. He isn’t dreaming. He’s wanted to do this for so long, and he never thought he’d be able to, but now he _is,_ and it’s the best he’s ever felt -

But -

But.

But Gio is drunk.

“Giovanni,” Marti gasps, pulling back. “Dude, we shouldn’t. You - you don’t know what you’re doing right now.”

“I do,” he says, nodding fiercely. “I do, I know what I’m doing.”

Martino shakes his head sadly. “You’re drunk. You’re gonna forget about this in the morning.”

“No ‘m not, Marti,” Gio slurs, and Martino’s heart breaks.

“Look, I’m...I’m going to go get you some water.”

“Ok.”

Marti doesn’t remember going to the kitchen, but suddenly he’s there, holding a glass under the faucet, cold linoleum under his feet.

He’s alone in his kitchen on a Saturday night, at God knows what time, and his best friend who he’s been in love with for pretty much forever has just kissed him.

His decidedly _very heterosexual_ best friend.

Nothing feels _real._

“ _Fuck,_ ” he mutters to himself. The glass is overflowing. He shuts off the tap.

Giovanni’s already asleep when he gets back to his room. He sets the glass down on the bedside table, allows himself to track the movement of Gio’s chest rising and falling for a few seconds, before forcing himself to turn off the light and leave.

He grabs a pillow and some blankets from the hall closet and lies on the sofa in the living room. He stares at the ceiling, lost in thought for a long time, and doesn’t fall asleep for a while.

When he wakes up, the house is as still as the grave. It’s pouring outside, the rain pitter-pattering on the roof like a drum.

Martino gets up, starts making eggs and coffee and a hangover cure for Gio. Gio -

_Fuck,_ Gio _kissed_ him last night. That actually _happened._

And God knows what’ll happen next.

Marti tries to push the thought out of his mind, focuses on the frying pan and the sound of the eggs sizzling in it. He shouldn’t dwell on drunken mistakes. He’ll break his own heart that way.

“Smells good,” a voice mumbles from behind.

Giovanni looks like death. Good thing there’s no sun to shine through the curtains.

Marti puts the hangover remedy in front of him, probably turns away from him too quickly. “Drink up.”

He hopes he doesn’t sound nervous, or anything. Hell, does Gio even remember? It doesn’t _seem_ like it.

Which is for the best.

They eat breakfast quietly. Marti makes sure to leave something out for Mama, though he doesn’t know when she’ll be up. Eventually, Gio trudges back off to the bedroom, and Martino follows him.

He’s got a lump in his throat that just won’t go away. Giovanni’s scrolling through something on his phone when Marti sits next to him on the bed. Carefully. Gingerly.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah, I slept ok.”

“You were on the couch,” Gio points out.

Martino shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Ok.”

A silence, and then -

“Did we kiss last night?”

Martino stares. “Huh?”

Giovanni puts down his phone, fixes him with a serious look. “Did we?”

“Um,” Martino stammers. He’s going to _hate_ him. “Uh, yeah, we - we did, but...you were drunk and didn’t mean it, so. It’s fine.”

His face burns with humiliation, with discomfort, with awkwardness, with inevitable _rejection -_

“Oh,” Gio says simply, turning back to his phone. “I think I meant it, though.”

Marti’s breath catches. “ _What?_ ”

“The kiss,” Gio says. “I was drunk, but I’d do it again now that I’m sober.”

Martino stares.

“If you wanted to, of course,” Giovanni adds.

There’s no way Marti still isn’t asleep. He pinches himself to make sure, but nothing happens.

If this is real, _really real,_ then he deserves to know the truth. Even if it’ll ruin everything.

And it will probably ruin everything.

“Look, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

Gio quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

Martino steels himself, breathes in deep.

“It’s my fault that you and Eva broke up.”

Giovanni doesn’t say anything. His expression doesn’t even change.

Martino continues. “When Eva told me that she kissed Federico, I was the one who told Alice about it. And I told her not to tell you, because,” He swallows. “I knew you’d forgive her if you heard it from her.”

Giovanni considers this. “I’d’ve broken up with her either way, I think.”

Well, that would’ve been nice to know six months ago.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?”

Gio shrugs. “Because I already knew all this, dude.”

Martino sits straight up. “You - “

“Yeah, Eva told me.”

Marti’s mouth falls open. “But I asked her not to tell you!”

“I know, and she probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t asked her first.”

Somehow, Martino’s standing. He can feel the disbelief, the apprehensiveness running through his veins. “You _asked_ her?”

Gio sighs. “Marti, I knew something was going on with you. And I knew that even though Eva and I had broken up, there was no reason for you two to stop being friends. So, I confronted her about it, and she told me everything.”

“And you’re not mad.” Martino can’t believe this, he just _can’t._

Giovanni laughs lightly. “Obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t be hanging out with you.”

Martino wants to _scream._ “ _Why_ aren’t you mad?!”

“You’re my best friend, man.” Giovanni’s eyes are soft. “I can’t stay mad at you. I couldn’t even stay mad at Eva for long. We all do shitty things sometimes. It’s just something that humans do.”

“Then why - “ Marti flounders. “Why’d you _kiss_ me? You’re _straight._ ”

Gio stands too, cracks his back like he isn’t absolutely destroying Marti’s entire world view right now. “Says who?”

“Says - says - “

Says _no one,_ apparently.

“After I heard what Eva said, I asked her if she really thought you were in love with her. And it took a little convincing, but I managed to get her to tell me that you weren’t. Because you’re in love with me.”

Martino stops breathing.

“How does _Eva_ know - “

“Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

Marti puts his face in his hands. “So you’re - you - “

“Yeah,” Gio says softly. “Completely.”

Martino’s breath comes out all in a rush. “ _Fuck._ ”

“Marti.”

He glances up.

“ _Marti._ C’mere.”

Marti goes, almost without even realizing it. There’s still no way this is real...but Gio’s hands on either side of his face are flesh and blood, solid, _there,_ and his eyes are captivating, entrancing, _everywhere._

This time when Giovanni kisses him, Martino doesn’t pull back.

**Author's Note:**

> if you actually read this all the way through then i see you are a person of culture as well


End file.
